Reflection for September 21, 2025

Twenty-fifth Sunday in Ordinary Time (C)

Amos 8:4-7 | Psalm 113:1-2, 4-6, 7-8 | 1 Timothy 2:1-8 | Luke 16:1-13

Walking with the Lord isn’t easy—and He never said it would be. This week’s message is a tough one: it’s about being selfless. The readings remind us to show care and compassion for the poor and to lift others up in prayer.

In the fields of Arayat, Pampanga there is a quiet practice called makipamulot ng mais. When the harvest of white corn comes, the mamalakad—the wealthy landowners—open their gates to the alalang alang (the jobless), letting them join in the harvest. After the hard day’s work, the corn gathered at the edges of the farm is left for them as their share. Even the sungkit—the fallen cobs from the stalks, or those that tumble from the paragos drawn by the carabao—belong to the poor, free of cost. I remember watching old women and barefoot children with their woven baskets, bending low to gather each ear of corn with grateful hands. There was no shame, only joy—because in those humble kernels was the hand of God. The harvest was not for the rich alone, but also for the hungry, the weary, the forgotten. In the quiet rustle of corn leaves, one truth is whispered: the Lord provides, and He commands us to share His abundance.

“Listen to this, you who trample on the needy and do away with the poor of the land…” (Amos 8:4). The prophet’s cry echoes into our own age. Amos looked at a society glittering with prosperity, yet rotting with injustice. Even the “sweepings of the wheat” were sold, leaving nothing for the poor. But God had commanded in Leviticus: leave the edges of your fields, leave what falls to the ground—for the poor, for the stranger. Brothers and sisters, isn’t this the test of our faith? To pray, to worship, yet ignore the hungry, is to mock the Lord we claim to serve. Wealth itself is not evil, but when our plenty blinds us to those who go without, our gain becomes theft. St. Basil the Great beautifully taught, "The bread you hoard is not yours—it belongs to the hungry. The coat that hangs unused in your closet belongs to the one shivering in the cold. The shoes gathering dust beneath your bed belong to the one who walks barefoot. The silver you keep hidden belongs to the one in desperate need. Whatever you withhold from others is not truly yours to keep; in clinging to your excess, you are not merely neglecting charity—you are stealing from the poor what rightfully belongs to them.” Amos warns: God hears the cry of the little ones, and He will not forget. Let us then examine our lives. Are we hoarding? Or are we sharing? For in God’s eyes, our excess belongs to the poor.

The early African Christians had a beautiful practice. Each one chose a quiet spot in the thicket where they would meet God in prayer. Day after day, their footsteps carved clear paths through the grass. Those paths told a story—the story of hearts that sought God faithfully. But when someone began to neglect prayer, the signs were unmistakable. The path grew over, the grass rose again. And the community, with love and gentleness, would say, “Brother, the grass grows on your path.” 

What a powerful reminder for us. Our own “paths” may not be through tall grass, but they are written in our hearts, our choices, our lives. When prayer is forgotten, it shows—not only in us, but in how we love others. St. Paul reminds us that prayer is not optional—it is essential. “I urge that supplications, prayers, intercessions, and thanksgivings be made for everyone” (1 Timothy 2:1). Too often, our prayers circle only around ourselves—our wants, our needs. But Paul widens our vision: pray for all people, even those we find hardest to love, because God desires all to be saved. Prayer is not a performance to entertain us at Mass; it is the beating heart of the Church. Every prayer we lift—adoration, contrition, thanksgiving, supplication—becomes part of God’s great work of mercy. Imagine what would happen if we truly became a praying Church: families restored, leaders guided, nations healed. So when we gather for the Holy Mass, let us come not to be amused, but to intercede. To raise holy hands for our loved ones, our neighbors, even strangers. For in prayer, we are joined to God’s will: that all may come to know His truth and His love.

In our barangay, folks had set up a soup kitchen to serve hot arroz caldo and lugaw to street dwellers who hadn’t tasted a decent meal in days. Everyone was pitching in—except Stingy Stephen, the barangay’s most famous kuripot. One volunteer finally approached him. “Sir, our records show that despite your overflowing wallet, you haven’t given even a spoonful of rice to the soup kitchen.” Stephen raised an eyebrow. “Do your records show I have an elderly mother who was left with nothing after my father died? Do your records show I have a brother who can’t work because of his disability? Do your records show I have a widowed sister with ten hungry kids?” The volunteer, flustered, said, “No, sir… our records don’t show those things.”Stephen smirked. “Well, I don’t give to any of them—so why on earth would I give to you?” And with that, he walked off, leaving everyone shocked… and oddly impressed at his consistency in being madamot.

In today’s Gospel, Jesus reminds us that money is not just a tool for survival—it is a test of the heart. He tells us to use our resources in ways that will echo into eternity. When we share with the poor, the sick, and the vulnerable, we are not losing wealth; we are investing in heaven. The poor whom we serve today will one day welcome us into eternal dwellings. But let us not forget: God Himself is the source of every blessing. He knows whether we clutch our riches tightly or let them flow to others in love. As Paul says, God blesses us abundantly so we may abound in every good work. Brothers and sisters, money can easily become our master, but Jesus is clear—you cannot serve both God and wealth. The best way to show love for the God we can’t see is by helping the poor and those who need our care. St. Padre Pio warns us: “When we refuse to be kind or to help others in need it’s like hurting God right in the eye—and nothing is more sensitive than the eye.” So let us open our hands: to receive what we need, to share what we have, and to trust that in giving, we gain everything that truly lasts.

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